Like a Dream
by j-hambys
Summary: AU: She realizes now that they've probably chosen the worst possible place to hide from a vampire.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own Fright Night or any of its characters.

"He can't kill us in here." She yells next to her at Charley, who seems to be assessing their current situation.

He seems to disagree. "You really think any of the people in here would notice or care if we were killed?"

He's right. She realizes now that they've probably chosen the worst possible place to hide from a vampire. In a dark club packed with bodies and music loud enough to drown out nearly everything else, Amy understands just how completely fucked they are.

Charley has his hand firmly on hers as they try to make their way to the exit, but somehow along the way he loses his grip on her and she's lost him.

"Amy!" she hears him yelling for her, but she can't see him at all. Shit. Now she's lost him in a club full of people with a psychotic vampire on the loose, could this get any worse?

Stupid question, of course it could.

Out from the crowd, a tall dark figure appears it front of her, before she can even react she's hoisted over his shoulder like a rag doll while he carries her to a closed off corner of the club.

_Fuck. _This was not happening. After surviving his attack on the highway and having a second encounter with him at Peter Vincent's place, she could not go down like this.

She's pounding her fists into his shoulders, commanding him to put her down to no avail, while the other club goers look on with mixed expressions of amusement and admiration.

"Right on!" She even hears someone yell. _Thanks for that, asshole. _She thinks bitterly to herself. Hell, her situation is so unfortunate it almost feels like a cruel joke. She's being carried across a club by a vampire and no one could give a shit. In a horrible twisted way, it's almost funny.

The gravity of the situation hits her when he finally puts her down, his dark eyes completely focused on hers. Before she'd seen him drain that poor man on the highway, she used to think he was handsome. Now, he was terrifying.

He wraps both hands around her throat, not enough to seriously hurt her or cut of her air supply, but enough to intimidate her still. This was it. This was the end, she knew it. Charley was no where in sight, and for all she knew some bouncer who worked at the club had probably found him and kicked him out for being underage while some vampire was going to drain the life out of her right their on the dance floor.

"Charley is going to find me." She doesn't know who she's trying to convince, Jerry or herself.

He doesn't look amused, but he doesn't look very rattled by her comment. "I'm counting on it."

Just fucking perfect. She was the bait now, to lure her unreliable boyfriend to his death. A boyfriend who hadn't called her for days, a boyfriend who wouldn't even let her know what was going on in his life. A boyfriend who would rather spy on his neighbor than touch her. A boyfriend who had gotten her into deep shit without even letting her know what she was up against. She was going to get killed in front of all these people and they wouldn't even hear her scream.

He pulls her in close, enough so his mouth is next to her ear. "You'd just need one taste."

He pulls away from her slightly enough to prick his finger with one of his sharp nails and draw blood. She struggles more as he tries to touch the bloody finger to her lips, not knowing what his blood might do to her, but knowing nothing good would come from it.

"It could be like a dream." His voice is like velvet and if he weren't holding her against him, her knees may have given out. He draws his finger up to his lips, and before she can process it, he presses his mouth down to hers and kisses her. She can taste the blood on his tongue and it's like a shock to her system. It hits her faster than any drug could, but it isn't like anything she's ever experienced before. No, this was indescribable. He breaks the kiss and pulls away from her slightly, their lips only inches apart. She can feel his blood on her lips, and can feel her eyes glaze over. Her body feels paralyzed, weightless as if she were on a cloud.

His eyes aren't their usual brown anymore, but dark like they'd been earlier that night. They're full of an emotion she can't place at first, but with his blood inside her she seems to be able to pick up on that feeling. _Lust._ The look in his eyes seems to only fuel the fire inside her as she takes his face in both her hands and pulls his mouth down to hers for a second kiss.

It's more passionate and intense than the first, with one of his hands holding her around the waist while his other hand is buried in her hair. It's probably the blood that brought on this sudden lust and attraction, but she somehow can't bring herself to care. Besides, hadn't she constantly been telling herself to stop wasting her time with immature high school boys and that she needed to move on to men?

Only Jerry was not a man. No, he was something else entirely.

But this doesn't frighten her, no. Somehow it only excites her more. She doesn't know what sort of hold he has on her emotions, but whatever it was, she doesn't want it to stop. He guides them back further into a corner, more isolated from other people, and she feels her back make contact with a wall as he pushes her against it.

His skin isn't ice cold like she imagined, but he doesn't give off any heat either. There's no heartbeat under her palm as she rests it against his chest, and she can feel fangs scrape against her bottom lip, but somehow none of this scares her anymore. Somehow it only makes her want him more.

His hands move from her waist to her upper thighs to lift her up as she hooks her legs around his waist, his lips never breaking apart from hers. _Dear god, if Charley could see me now... _Her inner voice chimed in. While another voice added, _Charley who?_ Somewhere along the line, guilt just wasn't registering with her at the moment. No, there would be plenty of time for that later.

He moves his mouth away from hers and presses lips gently to the area of her neck where her pulse is. Her head tilts back slightly to give him better access, as he kisses the spot lightly. Was he going to bite her? Was this really that moment? A small moan escapes her throat, and she thanks god that no one can hear it. Well, except for Jerry probably. Vampire hearing and all that.

He kisses a trail from her pulse point down to her collar bone, and feels his fangs graze the spot. He nibbles lightly at her neck, as if to tease her. She was getting impatient, it wouldn't be long before she surrendered all control completely and let him take her right there in the club.

As if he possessed the ability to read her thoughts, she feels one of his hands move from her thigh to tug at the waistband of her jeans. _Oh god, this is really happening. _She'd waited months for Charley to make a move, but here she was, with a man - err, someone who she barely knew who was going to take her right there in public.

She feels him undo the top button of her jeans when her lust and passion are replaced by panic. Before he can undo her zipper her hand catches him by the wrist. "Wait…"

He looks up at her, eyes still dark, no traceable human emotion there. No, he's more monster than man now, making her even more shocked as to how he was able to go this long without biting her. Maybe the man on the highway and the security guards at Peter Vincent's had been enough? Or was he really holding himself back with her?

His eyes still bore into her, awaiting her explanation.

Her blue eyes lock onto his obsidian ones, "Not here."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't own Fright Night or any of it's characters.

He calls a cab to pick them up from the club, which arrives promptly five minutes after he calls it. The ride home is completely devoid of any conversation. Part of her is wrestling with her conscience and asking herself if she should really go through with this, while the other part of her is telling her conscience to get a life.

As the time drags on, her thoughts start to come in more clearly and coherently than they had in the club.

She knows nothing good will come of this. She's willingly offered herself up as a lamb for slaughter, and for what? An easy lay? A way to get back at Charley? No, this had nothing to do with Charley. He hadn't been the most attentive boyfriend, sure, but even he didn't deserve this sort of sick revenge from her.

The cab pulls into the collection of suburban houses, pulling up besides Jerry's house. She tries not to look, but she doesn't miss the burnt wreck that had been her boyfriend's house less than twelve hours ago.

Jerry gets out first, even opens the door for her when she gets out. It's ridiculous that the person who will inevitably kill her is being polite and opening doors for her. _Who says chivalry is dead?_ Chivalry may not have been, but Jerry still was.

His house is surprisingly normal looking from the inside, for a vampire at least. There's the exception of the blacked out windows, but using the excuse of working late nights on the strip and sleeping all day would be a logical explanation for that.

He notices her surveying his place, watching her with a look on his face like an animal stalking its prey. "What do you think?"

She looks back at him, but ignores his question. "What the hell what that? Back at the club?"

"What do you mean?" He knows exactly what she means; he just wants to hear her say it.

"Your blood, it did something to me…It was like I was – drugged or something. What did you do to me?"

He steps closer to her. "Vampire blood is known for causing a sense of euphoria in humans, but it can bring on other emotions too. Confusion, a feeling of being disoriented, _lust_..." His lips are next to her ear as her drags out the last word.

"So you manipulated me?"

"The blood doesn't manipulate emotion, it can only increase the feelings that are already there." His hand moves to tuck a strand of blond hair behind her ear.

She steps back and quickly moves away from him. "Don't touch me." She's angry. He's knowingly taken advantage of her, and the fact that they're alone now means there will be no one to stop him from finishing what he'd started.

He continues moving towards her, until he has her backed up into the stove. A stove that she's sure he has no use for anyway. His hands grab her on the waist, pulling her closely to him so her hands are pressed against his chest.

"I said don't touch me!" She struggles against him to pull away, even though she knows she could never be any match for him. She digs her nails into his chest, hurting him the only way she can. She draws blood, feeling it under her nails and on her fingertips, but he doesn't even seem fazed at her attempt to hurt him.

He grabs onto both her wrists. "You know, from the moment I met you, I knew Brewster wasn't doing it for you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I could tell that you weren't, strictly speaking – satisfied in your relationship."

She's utterly dumbfounded. "How the fuck would you know?"

"You have a certain way about you," he grabs onto a lock of her hair and holds it up to his face. "A certain, _scent_…" He breathes in sharply, as if he's trying to inhale her. "You were putting it out there, but he wasn't giving you what you needed."

He's close to her again, as close as he'd been at the club. "And what? You think that you can?" It was supposed to come out as a challenge, but it barely comes out above a whisper.

She feels his lips graze her ear. "I know I can."

She wants to do the right thing. Wants to tell him she'd rather die than do what he's suggesting. In another life she could be resourceful and somehow find a way to escape him. If this were her story, she could be the heroine instead of the damsel. She could beat the bad guy and be the one to save her boyfriend instead of waiting for him to save her.

Her hands press back from him slightly, enough so she can look up into his face. "So this is all part of the plan? Seducing the enemy's girlfriend so you can destroy him emotionally too instead of just physically?"

"It's not all about him you know."

She wants to do the right thing, but her conscience ends up taking a backseat that night. She holds her finger up to her lips, some of his blood still on her fingertips from when she'd scratched him. She licks the blood off in a provocative gesture while he looks on with a knowing smirk.

"_You'd just need one taste…" _She remembers him saying that at the club earlier that night. He'd been right. It hits her exactly like it had the first time. A single drop being enough to make her feel as euphoric as she had earlier. She almost loses her balance, but he pulls her against him to steady her.

Her head is resting against his chest now, and she can almost swear she feels one of his hands stroking her hair. The gesture was so tender and intimate, it felt out of character, especially for him.

"Are you going to kill me?" She'd been wanting to ask him that for awhile now, but was too afraid of what the answer would be.

"I highly doubt it." He sounds distant, as if he's miles away.

She lifts her head to face him again, their faces only inches apart.

Oh well. If she was going to die, at least she would die happy.

They're kissing again, and this time, there was no fear of anyone trying to stop them. He lifts her onto the stove and starts aggressively kissing her. The monster had taken over again, but she was too lost in ecstasy to be afraid. His hands move to take off her sweater, but instead of unbuttoning it he simply rips the material in half, the plastic buttons that had once been attached landing on the kitchen floor with a light clatter.

"Sorry." She knows he doesn't really mean it.

"I don't give a shit." She quickly pulls him back by his collar and resumes kissing him.

His movements are as quick and frantic as hers as he works on removing her jeans next. He slips them off with an experienced ease, until she's left with the short white dress she'd worn over her pants.

She wonders if he does this with everyone, has sex with the girls then sucks them dry. He'd had Doris over for god's sake, Charley's stripper neighbor. If Jerry was as perceptive as he claimed, he had to have known what women like that were after.

"_He's hot and she's a stripper, they were bound to find each other eventually." _Only he hadn't found Doris, he'd found Amy instead.

He pulls away from her suddenly, staring at her with dark eyes again. She stares back at him, breathless, waiting for him to make the next move. It was always his game, only now she's actually willing to play along.

He lifts her up from the stove and gathers her in his arms, carrying her as if she were a bride.

In her small white dress, she almost even looks the part.

She's carried up a flight of stairs to the second floor of his house, the windows blacked out exactly as they were on the main story. He takes her into a room that she assumes is his. It's large, probably the largest in the house, with an abnormally high ceiling and a fireplace on the opposite side of the room where a king sized bed was facing.

She wonders if he actually sleeps in it or if it's only used for occasions like these. At the moment, she guesses the latter.

He lays her down on soft rug by the fireplace, looming over her as he does so. An innocent virgin giving her virtue to a blood thirsty vampire? She's sure she's read a book about this.

Only that was fiction, this was reality.

He slides one of his hands beneath her dress, the flesh on his hand as pale as the material they'd disappeared under.

Before she can make a sound or say anything to protest, he's already maneuvered past her underwear and slid a finger inside of her. She lets out a small whimper in pain, not wanting him to see how badly this hurts her. Being a virgin, she knew her first time would be painful, so she'd endure the pain.

When he slides in a second finger she bites her lip to stop herself from yelping in agony.

She chances a look up at him to see what his expression is. His eyes are still black and his fangs are slightly protruding, and with the fireplace casting a shadow over his features, he looks like the stuff that nightmares are made of.

He's going to eat her alive, and by the time Charley and Peter come for her in the morning, there would be nothing left of her to save.

She feels his fingers twist inside her, turning her head to the side and shutting her eyes tightly. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

He's never really wanted to hurt her though. If he'd wanted to, he'd had plenty of opportunities, yet her she was, laying beneath him and completely in one piece.

He pulls his clawed fingers out of her and she looks up at him again. His expression is practically animalistic, as if something completely primal has taken over. She hears the sound of him undoing his zipper, all the while he's staring at her, as if asking for her silent consent. She doesn't say a word, doesn't tell him to do it, but doesn't tell him not to either. The fact that he seems to be giving her a choice shocks her to the point where she's at a complete loss for words.

Her consent must've somehow registered in her eyes, because seconds later, he's slid himself into her.

She doesn't hold back the pained yelp this time, not being able to suppress it. Her fingers press tightly into his shoulders, needing to grip something to distract her from the pain. She feels the heat from the fireplace next to them, suddenly feeling like the temperature of the room was hotter than hell itself.

She pulls him closer to her, wishing the coldness of his skin could break the horrible fever she felt like she'd come down with. It's a cruel irony how well they fit together in that moment, her body melding perfectly beneath his upon their joining. Her grips her shoulder, sliding his hand down her upper arm. She feels his sharp nails dig into her delicate flesh, a powerful predator leaving a wound on its prey.

He's over the edge now, and she can tell he's all monster now. He dips his head down to the crook of her neck, nibbling lightly at it with his fangs.

He wants to sink his teeth into her, to taste her blood on his lips. As much as he wants to something else holds him back. He likes her like this. He doesn't want her to turn, doesn't want her to lose the essence of who she is. Like this, her scent was the most exquisite think he'd ever smelt.

If he turned her, that would all be gone. It would be such a waste really.

She feels him stretching her with each thrust, the feeling becoming less painful. From what all her friends have told her, after the first time, sex was supposed to feel pretty good.

The longer he went, the better it felt. The feeling of ecstasy had returned, and she couldn't control the cries of pleasure that followed.

She feels herself reach her climax, clutching him tightly to her as if she were drowning.

Her body goes limp on the floor, holding him down with her. She lays completely still aside from the rise and fall of her chest.

His head is lying against her chest, and he turns his head to the side, listening. "Your heart is beating so fast."

"You're completely to blame for that."

He lifts his head to look at her. "You didn't seem to be complaining."

She refuses to dignify that with a response. She simply lays back, staring at the high ceiling, her body still coming down from her finish.

She feels him climb off of her to lay next to her. When she moves to lay on her side he curls an arm around her waist, another intimate gesture she never expected from him.

Her eyelids grow heavy, and within minutes her body finally gives into sleep.

How long she slept is impossible to estimate. There's no sunrise, no chirping birds, no evidence that would suggest morning had come. The room is almost completely dark from the blacked out windows, except for the fireplace which was now giving off a dull flame.

When she wakes, she's no longer on the floor. Instead, she's laying on the bed she could only assume was his, her head resting on a soft pillow. She moves to an upright sitting position to inspect her surroundings. From across the room she can see the same fireplace from the night before, and the soft rug that sat in front of it. _Oh dear god._

Memories of the night before come flooding back to her. Memories of the things he'd done. Memories of the things he'd done to _her_.

She doesn't know what to feel at this point. Should she feel guilty that she'd betrayed Charley? Or should she be angry at him for not getting to her in that club on time?

It wasn't his fault. He knew what he'd been up against and he'd tried to keep her away. He'd tried to distance himself from her. He wasn't neglecting her, he'd been trying to protect her. How would she face him? Would he have her now after what she'd done? She can't blame this completely on Jerry's blood. He'd given it to her the first time, but the second time she'd taken it willingly knowing what the side affects would be.

If she lives through this, she will never speak of this again. If she gets away, she will go home and wash her hands of this. Yes, she and Charley will put this whole mess behind them.

The door to his bedroom opens and Jerry enters the room. His eyes immediately fall on her sitting form on the bed. He isn't smirking like usually, but his face isn't menacing like it was earlier. His eyes are their usual brown again, giving him the facade of an ordinary human being. Only she, Charley, and Jane had seen what he really was and would live to tell the tale.

Well, she shouldn't say that. She doesn't want to jinx it.

He walks across the room and joins her on the bed, sitting down next to her. He sits close enough to reach out and touch her, but she doesn't even flinch. She still isn't positive he'll let her live, but she's too tired to be afraid right now.

His hand moves to caress the scratch he'd left on her left arm, his fingers sliding gently along the marks. It's the sort of mark that makes it appear as though she'd been mauled by some sort of animal, the cuts running deep enough to puncture the flesh but not deep enough to draw much blood. The way he's inspecting it she doesn't know if he's feeling remorceful or if he's simply admiring his handiwork. The current expression on his face is impossible to read.

"Does it hurt?" There's no guilt or remorse in his voice, only mild curiousity.

"No." She actually hadn't even known he'd left a mark until she'd inspected her arm.

They stay like that for a moment. Both sitting on the bed close enough so that their shoulders are touching. Both staring at the fire, waiting for the other to address the giant elephant in the room.

"What time is it?" She wants to know if the sun has come up yet. If it has, he doesn't have much time.

"Four a.m., the sun will rise in two hours."

She wonders if his blood has given him some telepathic connection to her, because he seems to answer even the questions she doesn't say out loud.

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait. Your boyfriend will come looking for you the moment the sun rises."

She doesn't know what's more unpleasant, the thought of Jerry killing Charley or the other way around.

Her hand lightly grips his, hoping to draw out any semblance of compassion he has left. "Please, don't hurt Charley."

"If he comes looking for a fight, there's nothing I can do about that."

The solution is simple. There's a way they can all survive this.

"You have to leave. Get out of here before the sun rises. No matter how strong you think you are they're going to come for you, and they'll be prepared. Peter Vincent has an entire room full of books and weapons all for killing vampires. Charley may not know what to do, but Peter will. If he aims for the heart, he won't miss." It's part bluff part warning. Sure, Peter may have seemed like a coward, but he definitely hadn't collected all that stuff because he thought it was bitchin'. If he and Charley came there guns blazing, she honestly wasn't sure who would come out alive.

He stares at her, her warm hand still covering his colder one. She wonders if he can sense what she's feeling. If he can tell if she's lying or not. "I didn't survive for four hundred years to be killed by some kid and a Vegas magician."

"Then go."

He stands up from the bed and walks over to the fire place, simply standing in front of it and watching the flames burn.

She doesn't know why, if she needs his proximity or if it's some odd compulsion that's taken over her, but she gets up and walks over to him so she's standing next to him.

They stand there, on the same rug where she'd lost her virginity, to him of all people. She'd given herself to a dead man, and even if he left, somehow he couldn't take her guilt with him.

He turns so that he's facing her, when he does, she turns to look at him as well.

He puts a finger under her chin, tilting her head so that their eyes meet.

"I have half a mind to take you with me."

"You know you can't." When he leaves, she doesn't know how she'll pick up the pieces. How she'll recover from all that's happened. Hell, she doesn't even know if she can tell Charley all the things that have happened.

"You know, even if I leave, I'll never really be gone. I'll still be here, with you. My blood is in your veins now. I can feel everything you feel, and I'll always know where you are."

This should upset her, but somehow she's not surprised. She knew his blood would do something to her, this was just par for the course.

"The sun will rise soon." Her tone is flat, unfeeling. She just wants him out of here before Charley and Peter come charging in with their stakes and holy water.

He doesn't respond. He simply leans in to press his lips to hers. It's more gentle than any of their kisses before it, his lips lightly grazing hers. She reciprocates, wondering it it's their last.

He pulls away suddenly, and before she can blink he's standing next to the door frame.

"Don't think you can get rid of me that easily. I'll be seeing you again." And with that, he's gone.

She falls to her knees, suddenly feeling like she's been punched in the stomach. She lays down on her side, feeling the material of the soft rug beneath her finger tips. Her eyelids are heavy, and her body is still exhausted. She couldn't have slept for more than a couple hours before. She turns her head slightly, puts her nose to the rug, and inhales.

His scent still lingered there.


End file.
